


Calling, Calling (Me Home)

by VolxdoSioda



Series: Promptio Week 2019 (Complete) [2]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Age/Role Swap AU, Day 2 of Promptio Week, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-23
Updated: 2019-06-23
Packaged: 2020-05-16 19:16:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19324405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VolxdoSioda/pseuds/VolxdoSioda
Summary: Gladio's heard stories about the King's Shield. Cor Leonis is a man's man, and Gladio expects that of his son, too.Except Prompto Leonis is nuttier than a fruitcake, on the best days, and utterly terrifying on the worst ones. He's also determined for Gladio to prove himself despite being the underdog in this situation.God he hopes it's not contagious.





	Calling, Calling (Me Home)

Gladio’s heard stories of the King’s Shield. Stories about how, on a daily basis, Cor Leonis risks life and limb to assure the protection of the King. Stories about how he’s raising his son to do the same, to provide for the Prince that will one day be King. And he’s seen photographs and live streams of the King’s speeches, when Leonis stands on his right and looks terrifying. Certainly not a man to be trifled with. Nobody’s ever caught pictures of Cor’s son - Prompto - but rumor is he’s as terrifying as his father.

 

So to a degree, especially after gaining the friendship of the Prince, and the chilled understanding of Noctis’ retainer Ignis, Gladio’s been expecting someone like  _ himself.  _ Someone who people look at and go  _ yeah, that’s a man’s man right there.  _ Someone casually confident in themselves, arrogant about it at times, but rightfully so. Someone to who loyalty means a lot. And above all else, who would do anything for the scruffy, tired looking boy who whines too much about everything, even as he does what needs doing for the good of the people involved.

 

What he gets is… something completely different.

 

What he gets is walking home with Noctis one day, cutting through the seedier parts of town, Gladio feels all the hairs on his neck and arm suddenly stand on end, and shoves Noctis behind him as he turns, ready to face whatever threat is there.

 

But there’s nothing. Yet the longer he stands there, the more the feeling of being  _ watched  _ persists, the subtle sensation of  _ danger  _ skittering along his spine. He knows this feeling. This feeling is what got his the cut above his left brow, a savage strike from a knife defending Noctis’ life after a night out, celebrating their success from their first set of finals.

 

He swore when Noctis allowed him his friendship he wouldn’t let anything bad happen to Noctis, and he meant it. Noctis was willing to put aside all the bad rumors of “the big brute” aside and let him show himself, piece by piece, to the Prince. Was willing to accept him, weirdness and all. Was willing to give him a  _ chance.  _

 

As far as Gladio’s concerned, he owes Noctis a lot.

 

“Hey,” Noctis says, touching his elbow, but not making a move to come out from behind him. “It’s okay. Prompto! He’s a friend!”

 

There’s a glimmer in the distance, like light off a mirror.

 

Or far more likely, Gladio realizing a chilling second later,  _ sunlight off the sights of a sniper rifle.  _ No wonder he thought someone was watching him - they  _ were, _ from a distance Gladio couldn’t see, and the danger came from the bullets in the chamber of the gun.

 

Noctis’ phone rings a cheery tune Gladio’s never heard before. He still doesn’t move from his position in front of Noctis, because he’s dealt with bullies before, and if this Prompto thinks he’s going to scare Gladio off, he’s got another thing coming. “Dude, chill, he’s just-- Yes, I  _ know  _ how dangerous he looks, but he’s a friend. No-- Gladio Amicitia, dude. C’mon. You know him. Iggy’s told you about him like, half a dozen times probably already. The guy who took the hit for me that night at the club. Big guy from school, likes to feed me when I’m not looking.”

 

Gladio flushes. He’d thought he was being subtle, but damn, Iggy always packed  _ light  _ on the food. Noctis was too fuckin’ skinny.

 

“He wants you to know he can see that blush.”

 

Gladio glowers in the direction of the light, and flips the bird.

 

“He says he sees that too, but you’re looking in the wrong direction.”

 

“Fuck him,” Gladio snarls. “Which one of us is down here keeping you safe, versus staying up in the clouds like a godsdamned coward?”

 

Noctis goes silent. Then he winces, and says. “Yeah, he… does that. He’s a friend though, honest. Please be nice.  _ Nice,  _ Prompto. I mean it.” He closes the call, and looks to Gladio. “He’ll meet us at the apartment. I guess you’re finally going to meet the other half of my retinue.”

 

“Other half?”

 

“My Shield, dude.”

 

_ Shield? Wait, that was-- _

 

“Oh fuck me,” Gladio mumbles, pulling his baseball cap low, cheeks burning red. “I just told Cor Leonis’ son he was a coward.”

 

Noctis bites his lower lip, and looks like he’s trying very hard not to laugh. “Yeah. He uh. Was kind of impressed. Doesn’t usually get people giving him lip when they’ve got a sniper’s sights on them.”

 

“He’s going to kill me.”

 

“No, he’s not. He’s intense at times, but Prom’s… good. You’ll like him, I think. Or he’ll like you. C’mon, let’s not keep him waiting.”

 

Ten minutes later finds him inside of Noctis’ apartment, wishing he could vanish into the floor. Because sprawled on the couch like some kind of freckled succubus is the most gorgeous, sunny man Gladio’s ever had the displeasure of meeting.

 

“Yo there, Prince,” Prompto says, even as his eyes remain on Gladio. There’s a smile on his face, but it’s a fox’s smile, all sharp edges and wily promises. “And hello there, baby beef. Y’sure got a lot of nerve, talking back to someone who can pop you like the broad side of a barn.”

 

“Baby beef?”

 

“Nicknames,” Noctis explains, cheeks pink. “He… does them. A lot. Just roll with it.”

 

“It’s short for ‘baby beefcake.’ Which is what you are. A tiny little bouncer that thinks he’s big and bad. It’s precious.” Prompto cocks his head on a fist, raking Gladio with a quick once over that makes him feel far too naked despite everything he’s wearing. “Gotta say, when Iggy told me my Prince had a new friend, didn’t expect...you.” He gestures to all of Gladio. “Was picturing a girl. Or y’know, someone cute.”

 

“And when they told me Cor Leonis’ son was defending my Prince, I expected someone who actually grasp the magnitude of that duty. Not some blond  _ jackoff  _ who thinks with his prick.”

 

The smile drops. Noctis glances between them, but moves into the kitchen without another word.

 

The gauntlet has been thrown. 

 

“Well now,” Prompto says, regarding Gladio with eyes that suddenly seem far too knowing, prying out his every secret with just a look. “At least they got one thing right about ya. You open your mouth without thinking about just who you’re talking to.”

 

“You think I give a damn who you are?” Gladio demands back. “Only person I care about is Noctis. Both you and Iggy are just side-pieces, compared to him.”

 

“That so.” 

 

“Yeah, it is.”

 

Silence. It feels like Prompto’s prying open ribs, cutting through sinew and slicing muscle from bone with the force of his stare.

 

“And what,” he asks at last, a coeurl all wound up, ready to spring. “Would an all-brawn-no-brains  _ nobody  _ like you know about loyalty, compared to someone like me, whose been raised around the Prince his whole life? What can you, little  _ beef,  _ offer to him that he can’t get from anyone else?”

 

The words cut. Deeply. But Gladio’s been hurt before, by people just like this asshole. He’s not about to let him win. 

 

“Escape,” Gladio sneers. “Escape and a reminder that before anything else, he’s  _ human.  _ You’ve got dozens who can put on a shiny fucking crown and run a country. Politicians, nobles by the dozens. But human beings? You lot are awfully fuckin’ short on  _ them.  _ And given just what’s expected of him?” he tilts his chin towards the kitchen, where Noctis is clearly hiding. “He needs every outlet he can get. Nanny Iggy chases him down, demands he eat vegetables and do his homework. I bet you’re probably peering over his shoulder, telling him to be a good boy, don’t go looking for trouble, and yelling at him for every failed fight he gets into. I don’t have any expectations of him. I just want him to  _ live.  _ And if that means hiding him from  _ you  _ sorry fucks for half a minute each day, I’ll do it.”

 

He’s wound himself up for this fight. Told himself he wouldn’t be nasty, and then lied. Because he loves Noctis before he loves himself, and he’ll die before he lets the world take its pound of flesh from Noctis’ hide and then walk away like nothing’s wrong. Gladio’s been a protector since he was a baby - he’s not about to give that up. And he’s not about to give Noctis up, either.

 

He thinks maybe he’s overstepped. Violet eyes peer into his, and then a smile comes out. Another fox smile, but this time steeped in an edge of something else. Just the slightest hint of tolerance, maybe. 

 

“I almost didn’t believe Noctis, when he told me he made a friend. Glad to be proven wrong, for once.” He stands from the couch, and suddenly Gladio’s aware that this guy is his height, not big or towering like he expects, despite the clear muscle definition on him. “If that’s the case, I’ll tell Ignis to back it up a bit. Noctis is in your care then, baby beef. Be seeing you.”

 

And the guy just… leaves. No further fight, no snide remarks, no nothing. Just. Gone. 

 

Leaving Gladio standing there feeling his adrenaline crash, his legs going out from underneath him, as he suddenly becomes more  _ aware  _ of what he just did. 

 

“Here. You’re gonna want this.” An energy drink gets pushed into his hand, and still trembling, Gladio swallows almost all of it. Normally he wouldn’t, but he gets a feeling he needs this right now. 

 

“Intense, you said,” Gladio tries, after he surfaces from the fake sugars and chemical cherry scent. “ _ Intense.” _

 

Noctis winces. “He’s a good guy. He’s just… protective. He worries.”

 

Gladio laughs. He can’t help it. “There’s worrying, Princess, and then there’s  _ that.” _

 

“I know. Just… drink the drink, Gladio.”

 

“Why didn’t he kill me?” Gladio mumbles between sips. 

 

“Because you said all the right things. More than he was expecting. I told you - he worries. When he heard I’d made  _ friends  _ with  _ some thug,  _ he got worried I was being exploited. So to actually hear you say all that? It shows him you’re not trying to take advantage of me. You’re doing it out of genuine desire to keep me safe. And the fact that you mouthed off impressed him.”

 

“Of course you’d have a keeper whose impressed by mouthiness. Of course.”

 

“It’s not mouthiness. It’s a refusal to be cowed and made to back down over things that are important. Like me.”

 

The energy drink gets drained, and eventually Prompto gets forgotten in favor of studying. Noctis whines, but Gladio patiently walks him through the mathematics he’s determined to ignore, and once they’re done, they snuggle up on the couch with a video game, and eventually, drift off.

  
  


x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

  
  


He doesn’t expect anything beyond that. Figures that after a week, Prompto and Ignis have probably gone right back to circling Noctis like vultures, rather than leaving him to his own devices when Noctis is around. Instead, he finds the apartment empty whenever he shows up, Ignis or Prompto on their way out. Studying gets done, treats get eaten, video games get played, and at the end of the night Gladio either stays over or walks back home. 

 

A couple times in the dark, he’s sure there’s someone behind him, but when he turns, there’s nothing. The faintest echo of a footstep behind him, some distance back, he’s sure. But when he starts walking again, it’s gone. 

 

He doesn’t expect to run into any of them again, especially in a place like a grocery store.

 

“Ah, if it isn’t the baby beef!”

 

Gladio looks up from adding a pound of rice to his basket, and finds Prompto and Ignis standing a few steps from him, hunched over a basket of their own. Well, Prompto is hunched. Ignis is standing a couple steps back, reaching for something on the shelf - broth from the looks of it. 

 

“S’been a while, yeah?” Prompto asks, putting his chin down on his fist as he observes Gladio. “How ya been, kiddo? Still hangin’ on?”

 

It takes Gladio a minute to find words, because the last time he and Prompto spoke, they’d been at each other’s throats. Yet here the man is now, acting like they’re regular chums or something. “Uh, shopping?”

 

Prompto’s fox grin comes out, teasing, sly. “I got eyes, baby beef. I meant school wise. Is our oh-so-troublesome little gnat of a brat still behaving himself?”

 

“He’s not a brat,” Gladio huffs.

 

“Or a gnat,” Ignis adds, jabbing Prompto in the kidney to get him to move. “So none of that.”

 

“Wow, rude, Iggy. See if I ever do anything for you ever again.” Prompto rubs his sore kidney, and slides over to Gladio, peering into his basket. “Whatcha got?”

 

Gladio fights the insane urge to cover his basket with his body like a protective hen over her eggs. “Food. What normal people eat.”

 

“Normal people don’t eat this stuff, baby beef. They eat like, veggies and meat ‘n shit. You though? You’re eating  _ grain.  _ Your pantry full?”

 

“Something like that.” He defty tugs his basket away from the prying hands on the menace, only to bite down on a squeal when he turns and Prompto is suddenly  _ there.  _

 

“Ooooorr, are the little stories Noctis is telling us actually true?” Prompto murmurs, looking at him even as his fingers sort through the basket. “You always give up your food at school, you don’t bring a lunch, your pantry at home is nothin’ but noodles or rice, cheap, easy foods--”

 

“So I can’t cook, sue me.”

 

“‘Cept that’s not  _ not  _ cooking, baby beef. That’s starvation, that is.” Prompto’s grin has far too many teeth now, and Gladio kind of wants to turn and run. “You starvin yourself for our darlin’?”

 

Gladio feels something like panic ebb in between his lungs and heart, and rears back to tell Prompto to  _ back off,  _ except before he can, Ignis is there, snapping Prompto up by an ear, and forcing him to bow his head down low. 

 

“I apologize for my  _ companion’s  _ rude question,” Ignis says, glowering down at Prompto like a mother with her misbehaving offspring. “Your family situation is not our concern.  _ Is it, Prompto.” _

 

“Don’t give me that codswill, Iggs, you know Noct is soft on ‘em. If he ain’t eating right, how’s he gonna keep him safe when we aren’t there?”

 

“I imagine if Gladio is  _ truly  _ of the mind to keep Noctis safe, he will  _ inform us  _ if he has any troubles. Won’t you, Gladiolus?”

 

Never before has a man in spectacles and suspender set seemed so terrifying before. Ignis positively radiates  _ lie to me and I will hunt you down myself  _ energy, and Gladio hastily bobs his head. 

 

“There, you see?” Ignis says, with a smile that Gladio doesn’t believe for a second. “Perfectly fine. Now then, let’s all get back on with our shopping. Gladio, we’ll see you tomorrow, bright and early. Please try to ensure Noctis finishes his chemistry homework before tomorrow.”

 

“S-sure.”

 

“Night, baby beef!” Prompto calls as Ignis drags him and the basket away, leaving Gladio standing there in the middle of the aisle feeling like he’s just woken up from a very bad nightmare.

  
  


x-x-x-x-x-x-x

  
  


It gets weirder.

 

“D’aww, lookit the little beef, bouncin’ along like he’s gonna thump someone. Ain’t that just precious.”

 

Gladio drifts to a stop, sweat dripping down his brow, soaking through the old shirt he’s wearing for today’s run. Meanwhile, Prompto continues to run in place, smiling at him like the maniac he is.

 

“Morning sunshine!” Prompto chirps. “Good to see that cocky spirit of yours hasn’t been smothered beneath the weight of your own ego yet.”

 

Gladio blinks at him. “Do you hate me, or something?”

 

“Hate you? Goodness no. I can’t hate someone Noctis adores. That’s practically treason. You’ve got too much potential to be squandered, baby beef.  _ That’s  _ what I hate.” He closes his eyes, and tilts his head, smiling like some kind of creepy anime character. “But  _ until _ you become what I expect to see in the best friend of the to-be King, I will continue to hound your every waking step mercilessly, and mock you, and generally drive you around the bend until you better yourself. Because that’s what best friends do!”

 

Gladio stares at him. “Are you even real?” he demands after a moment of sheer confusion. “Are you  _ sane?” _

 

“Oh goodness no,” Prompto says, utterly serious. “Haven’t been since the last crash against Niflheim. Took a shot in the head for our precious baby Prince who can do no wrong, haven’t quite been the same since.  _ Sane.  _ Hah! You’re cute. Utterly adorbs. No wonder Noctis loves you. If you were twice your age or I was half mine, I’d ask you out.”

 

And then, because he hasn’t tossed Gladio’s world through the wringer yet today, he reaches out and pats Gladio’s cheek in the most loving (and yet disturbing) way Gladio has ever encountered.

 

“Right, back to the grind. Have a good run, baby beef! Remember, always watching!”

 

With that last, cheerful comment, Prompto returns to his run, leaving Gladio standing there wondering what the ever-loving  _ hell  _ he’s encouraged by mouthing off to this dude.

 

But also - who the blazing Chocobo fuck thought it was a good idea to make  _ this  _ loony-toon Noctis’ Shield?

  
  


x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

  
  


The answer to that, Gladio later thinks as he’s hunkered down in the deepest patch of grass he can find on the training yard of the Crownsguard, is probably the same fuckwit that decided to tell Gladio  _ you know if you succeed at the Crownsguard aptitude testing and pass, you can travel with His Highness when he leaves to go collect his Royal Arms. _

 

Which is to say, Cor Motherfucking Leonis, that’s who. King’s Shield, utter bastard, and father to the loony-toon, fox-faced  _ tyrant  _ that is currently hunting them all like a gamesman looking for deer. 

 

It’s the first ‘trial’ for the Crownsguard cadets; so far it’s been basic exercises, training, learning the weaponry and such. But this? This is designed to weed out those who would put their own safety before that of the King. 

 

The game is simple. Every person has an egg - their “King” -  that is tucked into their front pocket. Their job is to get that egg to a very small “safe zone” located in the heart of the training grounds - which for today’s experience, have been outfitted with old-fashioned rubbled, bushes, and other hiding materials. If the egg gets hit, it’s instant game over for the cadet. The cadet is to shield the egg, keep it safe until they can reach the safe zone. In the event the cadet is “mortally wounded”, by taking a paint shot to a vital area, they can hand the egg to a fellow cadet, and if both eggs reach the safe zone, it’s considered a victory for both cadets.

 

Their opponent is only one man, but he might as well be an army. Prompto Leonis hasn’t come down from the scaffolding overlooking the field, but he hasn’t needed to. Not with that sniper rifle he has, which has calmly and precisely taken down over half the cadets, or their Kings, within the first ten minutes. 

 

They’ve been given an hour, and like any smart man, Gladio’s gone into hiding. He knows Prompto knows  _ precisely  _ where everyone is, and is waiting for someone to poke their head out, someone to think  _ I can probably make the sprint. _

 

But no. No, they can’t. And Gladio knows this isn’t about ‘making a sprint’. It’s about proving you’re smart enough to out-think the enemy in a tight space like this. They have to get their eggs to safety, no matter the cost to themselves. But they also have to ensure that they don’t get themselves killed too early, and put their eggs in danger.

 

In short, they have to prove that they’re better, or at least on par, with the King’s Shield.

 

So Gladio doesn’t go running out or try ducking between covers. He waits, and thinks, and takes in his surroundings. What’s closest, what's the furthest away. And as he takes it in, he listens, and he hears it.

 

The faintest, softest sound, of booted feet hitting dirt. Like someone  _ coming down  _ from somewhere.

 

Prompto, tired of playing the waiting game, has come down at last to be the active hunter. That doesn’t mean the sniper rifle has stopped. It just means he’s on the ground with them now. More of a threat than before, because Gladio has seen how silently and quick he moves. 

 

He needs to be quicker. The safety of his egg is paramount.

 

He hears a yelp nearby, and the muffled sound of a scuffle. Cor’s voice filters over the speakers. “ _ Erwins, out. His King died.” _

 

Shit. Erwins was next to him and back a ways. He needs to move  _ now. _

 

Shifting silently, Gladio waits until he hears the sound of another scuffle, and then silently makes for the closest cover. A few moments later, he hears the cover he was  _ just in  _ being ransacked, and feels his heartbeat race. 

 

He moves.

 

Like the worst part of any horror game, movie or novel, Gladio plays a game of guessing with Prompto. He can hear Prompto moving as he takes down the other cadets, but there’s no doubt in his mind that Prompto likely knows where he is, and is waiting for an opportune time to pin him. Probably right when he’s next to the finish line, and thinks he’s in the clear.

 

Gladio doesn’t drop his guard. He doubles back, shifts, turns, keeps down low, quiet. 

 

And eventually, it’s only him and Prompto out on the field.

 

“ _ Dowager, out. Amicitia remains.” _

 

Pure silence. Gladio is at most, a couple of covers away from the safe zone. He can see it, just a way ahead of him. But he knows Prompto is stalking the area, waiting. Perhaps even now, right alongside the stone, knowing exactly where Gladio is, but playing the hunter’s game.

 

Even covered like he is, he’s far too exposed. Far too open. 

 

He knows this too from the chronicles of Cor and his illustrious career as the King’s Shield - sometimes the only thing you can do when surrounded by an enemy is do something reckless, and pray that it works. Pray that it is reckless enough, and yet  _ safe  _ enough, for your King to survive. Even if it costs the Shield their life, so long as the King lives on, all remains right with the world.

 

Gladio isn’t stupid. He knows Prompto will be on him in a second as soon as he moves. Perhaps even before then - there’s no telling how patient he’s willing to be. 

 

So, something a little reckless.

 

He takes in three great breaths, settling himself and psyching himself up in one, and then bolts for the next cover.

 

He was right; Prompto was right on his heels. Somehow, despite knowing this man as utterly weird, there’s nothing funny about him now. No smile on his face as he chases after Gladio, utterly soundless even as Gladio  _ sees  _ him moving. There’s just the piercing of those terrible, violet eyes, the knife in his hand, and the sniper rifle being shifted along his shoulder.

 

Gladio rolls into cover in time to avoid a headshot, but the paint still knicks his shoulder. 

 

_ “Amicitia shot - shoulder wound. Non-lethal.” _

 

He remains. He bolts again, and feels a shot against the back of his calf - another non-fatal shot, but one designed to halt him, make him stop.

 

He falters, enough to mimic someone wounded, as per the rules, and Prompto is  _ there. _

 

_ Time to get reckless. _

 

He throws the egg just as Prompto tackles him, and the paint knife slices across his throat, leaving a bright purple behind. 

 

_ “Amicitia has been brought down.” _

 

There’s a beat of silence. Murmuring from above. And then Cor’s voice again.

 

_ “The King is cracked, but alive. Amicitia passes.” _

 

And Gladio can’t help it, he laughs to himself, just a bit. Prompto grins down at him, all manic joy once again.

 

“Good job, baby beef. That’s the kind of mad thinking that just might let you run with us in the long term.”

 

“You’re a terrifying bastard, you know that?” Gladio asks, wiping sweat off his brow, as Prompto tugs him to his feet. 

 

“Flattery will get you everywhere,” Prompto smugly tells him, and then loops an arm around his shoulders. “Including, it turns out, a nice victory dinner, on me. For being such a good sport even when I was trying to maim you. No hard feelings, by the by.”

 

“Liar. You were targeting me from the beginning. Everyone else was just a distraction.”

 

“True, but I was being  _ nice  _ about it. That’s the important part.”

 

“Whatever you say, nutcracker.”

 

Prompto gasps, delighted. “A nickname! Ooh, I haven’t been called that before. I like it! Thank you Gladdy!”

 

“G-Gladdy?! Oi, only my sister--”

 

“Ah, but if your sister calls you that, I can’t have it. Too unoriginal. Can’t be stealing someone else’s nicknames. Hmm… you wear leather a lot…. Leather Gladdy!”

 

“No!”

 

“Gladdy Baby?”

 

“Absolutely not!”

 

“Gladdy  _ Daddy?” _

 

_ “I’m younger than you!” _

 

“Right, right. Tiny details, very important. Hmm… ah, got it!”

 

“Do not say--”

 

“ _ Gladdy Leather Daddy.” _

 

“I am going to  _ murder you,  _ nutcracker.”

 

“D’aw, you’re bein’ cute again, little beef. Love you too.”

 

So yeah, the son of the King’s Shield? Not what he expects.

 

He hopes it’s not contagious.


End file.
